Under Attack Again
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Illya frets about turning sixty, but Napoleon reassures him that he has nothing to worry about. An ABBA/Foothills story


Illya Kuryakin stood on the porch and looked out over the rolling fields behind the little house. While Jackson endured a building boom, the lots behind them remained open. Illya suspected that Napoleon had something to do with that. Instead of a multitude of expensive homes, the field stretched out to rolling hills, all baked a golden brown by the summer sun. Here and there an oak tree stood, dark against the sea of yellow.

"The man really does have more money than sense," he said as Fremir rubbed against his shin. Two arms slid around his waist and Illya leaned back into the comfortable embrace of his lover and partner.

"Who might we be talking about?" Napoleon nuzzled Illya's ear.

"Guess."

"You're cold." Napoleon changed the topic, knowing that it would be far easier in the long run.

"No, not really. I'm enjoying it. I didn't think fall was ever going to get here this year." Illya offered his coffee cup over his shoulder and Napoleon took a long drink before returning the cup nearly empty.

"It has been a long hot summer, even by Jackson's standards." Napoleon rested his chin on Illya's shoulder. "So just out here admiring the view?"

"And wondering where the time has gone. Sixty, how is that possible, Napoleon?"

"Well, speaking as someone who is going to turn sixty one soon, one day at a time."

"I'm serious. I never thought I'd live to be forty."

"You never thought you'd be an award-winning chef, cookbook author, or restaurant owner, either, and you are."

"But how?" Illya set the cup down on the railing and turned in Napoleon's arms. "And this? It seems like one day we were blowing up THRUSH and now-"

"We're blowing each other?"

"Napoleon, I'm being serious."

"So am I. Illya, you should know better than anyone that each day we have is a gift. We worked and bled so that we'd have this."

"A huge mortgage and a perennially sex-driven partner?"

"Well, that, too, I suppose." Napoleon pulled Illya closer. "Before this gets totally out of hand, I wanted to ask what you wanted for your birthday."

"Nothing and this year, I mean it. No surprise parties, no wild celebrations. I have everything that I need."

"Then I have the perfect gift for you."

"Were you listening to anything I just said?"

"Not really."

Illya sighed, but smiled at the same time. "We are truly married, aren't we?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Napoleon tightened his grip. "Now let's go back inside."

"Getting cold?"

"No, I just don't want Norm to come calling with another complaints against us because we have shocked Mrs. Nelson again." Napoleon gestured rudely at the house that had the barest of views of their back porch.

"The dirty old woman. The only way she could have seen anything would have been to be leaning out her upstairs window and using a periscope to see around the corner. Norm knows that, but it was a re-election year and she was his campaign manager."

"Never underestimate the power of a determined woman." Napoleon released him and looked down at his bulging jogging pants. "This I learned the hard way. Besides, I don't know what you are worried about."

"What do you mean?"

Napoleon took Illya's right hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the scar tissue on its palm and held it for Illya to see. "See? You have no life line anymore. You are ageless."

"Knucklehead," Illya said, grinning. "You haven't heard me getting out of bed in the morning."

"Then don't. Get out of bed. Come back with me and we will send this year off with a bang. Or several."

"That's my gift? Sex? Gee, you shouldn't have."

"You don't have to worry about it fitting, returning it for being broken, or even the wrong color. Let the world go hang itself today." Napoleon studied him, smiling as Illya nodded.

"All right. Let me make a couple of calls—"

"All taken care of. I even have one of these." Napoleon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a 'do not disturb' sign. "I just have to hang it up."

"What did I do to deserve you in my life?"

"Right back at you." Napoleon offered his hand. "Shall we?"

Illya took it. "We shall."


End file.
